


Something Sweeter

by throwupsparkles



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Halloween, M/M, Patrick Overthinks Everything, Trick or Treating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:21:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27309127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/throwupsparkles/pseuds/throwupsparkles
Summary: “I’m not wearing a giant pumpkin costume,” Patrick grumbles when Pete pulls out the bright orange--what even was that fabric?******Or, the one where Patrick has never been trick or treating and Pete makes it his mission to fix that.
Relationships: Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz
Comments: 7
Kudos: 43
Collections: Trick Or Pete 2020





	Something Sweeter

**Author's Note:**

> Rated M for language, because I can’t help but curse like a sailor when I write. Otherwise, this would have been rated T. 

Patrick has never been trick or treating. 

For the first few years of his life, his parents thought he was too small to take out into the cold Chicago autumn night. And then when he was four, he unluckily got the chickenpox the day after his mom picked up his Spiderman costume from the department store. So, that Halloween night was spent sitting in an oatmeal bath while he watched  _ It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown! _ . When he was five, his dad had to work late and his mom was sick, so there went that plan. And then his sixth Halloween was spent in the ER after he fell out of a tree and broke his wrist. 

“I was practicing turning into a bat!” Patrick exclaimed because he had read somewhere that vampires could turn into bats, but his mom had not looked impressed. 

By the time he was seven years old, he was sort of an enigma in his friend group. His second grade class had found out Patrick had never been trick or treating when they started talking about Halloween plans and he vowed that he would go out trick or treating with his friends no matter what. But then he smarted off to his music teacher for not knowing the difference between a classical guitar and an acoustic guitar. 

“I was just trying to save her from ruining the guitar!” Patrick insisted when his mom picked him up from school that day, “You can’t put steel guitar strings on a classical guitar or it’ll ruin it!”

“Doesn’t matter,” his mom had insisted, “You don’t talk to your teachers that way.” And then proceeded to ground him. Which meant that he would be missing yet another Halloween. 

Patrick wonders still to this day if his mom sort of regretted that one, because the following year was the year his parents divorced and Patrick was too pissed off at the both of them to want to go out trick or treating. And by that point, he was getting to the age where trick or treating wasn’t that big of a deal anymore and he stopped making plans. 

It didn’t bother Patrick really, he just sat with his mom or dad and handed out candy while they watched whatever Halloween special was on TV. And when he got to high school, Halloween was spent at a friends house with cheap beer. 

It did, however, bother Pete once he found out. 

“I’m sorry, you  _ what _ ?” Pete exclaims. 

Patrick rolls his eyes and pulls his headphones down around his neck because apparently they were talking about this. “I’ve never been trick or treating.”

Pete had been talking about how Halloween was his favorite holiday even if it stopped being as fun as an adult. “I miss getting dressed up and going to strangers for candy,” Pete had said. 

“You do that any time of the year,” Patrick had teased, then dodged the empty canister of Pringles that Pete threw at this head. 

“Whatever, don’t tell me you don’t miss trick or treating,” Pete had continued, “That’s like the main part of Halloween.”

“Wouldn’t know, I’ve never been.”

“How could you not have been trick or treating?” Pete stresses again, bouncing over to Patrick’s side of the lounge. The rest of the guys--who were neither insomniatic nor workaholics--were asleep in their bunks. Which is sort of a shame because Patrick could use some interference right about now. 

“Something just always came up,” Patrick shrugs. 

Pete narrows his eyes. “Patrick, what could possibly come between a child and his journey to endless amounts of candy?”

Patrick starts counting off the years on his hand. “Chickenpox, that time I broke my wrist, I got grounded one year and--”

Pete cackles, “ _ You _ grounded? Mr. Goodytoeshoes--”

“Oh fuck off,” Patrick grumbles, pushing Pete away from him and pretending like he’s going to go back to work. 

Pete grips onto his arms and tugs. “Wait, wait. No, come on, I’m sorry. Continue your sad saga of Candy-less Trick.”

“I had candy,” Patrick says, rolling his eyes, “You’re making this seem like it’s some traumatic--”

“It is traumatic!” Pete exclaims and Patrick eyes the small hall to the bunks warily. Joe is really fucking scary when someone wakes him up before he’s ready. And that means something coming from Patrick who has literally attacked Pete with a shoe once and-- “...a part of a rite of passage and--”

“Well then take me trick or treating!” Patrick huffs, hoping that’ll be the end of it. Until he sees that lightbulb going off expression on Pete’s face and Patrick starts shaking his head. “No, no, Pete, I was  _ kidding _ .”

“Pattycakes, you’re a fucking genius,” Pete grins climbing into Patrick’s lap and hijacking the computer. “We have to find you a costume.”

“I’m working on our--ow, Jesus Christ you have boney fucking elbows!” Patrick howls when Pete elbows him out of the way so he can pull up Google on the laptop. 

*

It would have been fine if Patrick had just left it alone. If he had been nonchalant about the whole thing and let Pete work this stupid plan out of his system. Because while Pete was always coming up with these elaborate plans, most of them never saw the light of day because either he A) realized they weren’t necessarily obtainable, like that time Pete wanted to have a petting zoo at their concert B) got distracted with another plan or C) lost interest because no one was telling him he couldn’t do it. But it wasn’t in Patrick’s nature not to tell Pete when he was being stupid, especially when the plan involved Patrick. 

“I’m not wearing a giant pumpkin costume,” Patrick grumbles when Pete pulls out the bright orange--what even  _ was  _ that fabric?

“It’s a classic Halloween costume,” Pete says, looking confused like he doesn’t see the hideous pile of orange dogshit in his hands. 

Patrick takes it out of his hands and frowns. “Yeah, because I don’t already feel self conscious about my weight, let's put me into a giant round squash,” he snips as he holds out the costume. The torso is basically made of foam that’s covered in orange panels, which creates an exaggerated round shape. And then he sees the thin nylon straps hanging down from it. “Are those  _ tights _ ?”

When Pete doesn’t say anything, Patrick looks up and almost takes back everything he’s said and is about to tell him how beautiful this garment is and how he’d be honored to be seen in it during New York Fashion Week even. Just as long as Pete stops looking like a kicked puppy. 

“Sorry,” Pete mumbles, “Yeah, you’re right, it’s not the right one. I’ll try again.”

Patrick is about to say something, but Pete snatches the costume out of his hands and hurries back to the bunks. 

Andy, who was sitting in the lounge while reading a tattoo magazine, looks up and says, “Smoothe.”

“You saw it,” Patrick says quietly so Pete doesn’t hear any more of Patrick’s complaints. 

Andy rolls his eyes. “Not the point, and you know it.”

Yeah, he does. He knows more than anyone how Pete gets when he’s all excited about something. He’s like a kid on Christmas morning, ecstatic to dive into the festivities at five am when the adults are still trying to sleep. And, like an overly excited child, Pete doesn’t understand why anyone would be hesitant on Christmas. Patrick often wonders what the best approach to Pete is when he’s like this. If it’s best to let him have his way, or to talk him down and try to explain that not everything is so life and death. 

But it’s also one of his favorite things about Pete. Sometimes he wishes he had that endless supply of ideas, of wishes and dreams that seemed to shivle up in Patrick’s too analytical mind. Everything had to have a purpose for him, and a logical purpose, not one of Pete’s made up reasons that rivals “because I said so.”

Patrick gives Pete some time to pout before he goes to the bunks and crawls into Pete’s. Pete pretends he can’t tell Patrick is there, his back facing him and he’s doing a piss poor job at pretending to be asleep. That, and Patrick knows that Pete never can sleep on the bus. 

He lays his head down on Pete’s pillow, his mind already clicking into “Pete Damage Control Mode”. And he sorta can’t help but close his eyes for a moment and let the stale smell of Pete’s unwashed hair spilling across the fabric for too many nights in a row. It’s become one of those sensations that settle all of Patrick’s neurons, lulling him into a sense of security and whispering, “You’re home now, you can relax.”

“Hey,” Patrick says softly, opening his eyes and putting a hand on Pete’s shoulder. He’s not a touchy feely guy, but Pete always responds best to touch. “I didn’t mean to--”

“It’s fine,” Pete mumbles, and it makes Patrick grit his teeth. It always grinds his gears whenever Pete makes himself small after he thinks he’s messed up. How he won’t stand up for himself and tell Patrick that he was being a dick over nothing. 

“It’s not,” Patrick sighs, trying to keep himself from getting annoyed, “I appreciate what you’re doing. It’s just that I don’t see the importance in…” he trails off as Pete rolls over and fixes him with a look. 

“That’s the problem, Trick,” Pete says, eyebrows still furrowed, “You don’t see.”

Patrick has a sneaky suspicion that Pete isn’t just talking about trick or treating anymore, but he’s in shaky territory. “Ok,” Patrick draws out, waiting for Pete to fill in the blanks for him. When he doesn’t, Patrick huffs and says, “We can find a Halloween store on Thursday, we’ve got a day off in Jersey.”

Pete’s eyes light up a bit and his smile slowly slips back in place. “Yeah?”

Patrick nods and hesitates, as if he’s going to refuse the hug that’s coming. 

But, like always, he lets Pete wrap him up and presses his face against his chest. 

*

Patrick should have known better than to suggest Halloween shopping in Jersey. Should have known that Mikey Way would somehow get roped into the quest to find Patrick the perfect Halloween costume. 

And of course if Mikey Way is going Halloween shopping, then the whole fucking band is coming too. Which means that Patrick has a party larger than a bride’s at a fucking bridal salon waiting for him to come out of the dressing room. 

“I don’t think so,” Patrick calls out, eyeing himself in the ridiculous painted on muscles of the blue nylon clinging to his stomach uncomfortably. 

“Pattycakes, everyone went as Superman at one point in their lives,” Pete calls back. 

“Not me,” he hears Gerard say. 

“Yeah, Superman is way too fucking whiny,” Frank agrees. 

“At least he’s not as bad as Peter Parker,” Joe chimes in. 

Patrick hates his life sometimes. 

“Oh, Batman,” Mikey suggests and Patrick normally doesn’t mind Mikey since he distracts Pete enough without letting him get into too much trouble, but he seriously wants to staple his lips shut. 

“I am  _ not _ wearing leather or whatever the discount version of leather would be,” Patrick grumbles, tying the red cape around his neck. 

Ridiculous. He looks absolutely ridiculous. 

“Come  _ on _ ,” Pete calls, and Patrick jumps because it sounds a lot closer than it should. Patrick sticks his head out of the dressing room and, sure enough, Pete is standing outside the door. “Need help?”

Patrick glares at him. “Not unless you can get me a time machine to when I didn’t care what I looked like.”

Pete reaches out to ruffle his hair. “Come on out, it’s just us.”

Something about his tone is soothing and warm, enough that Patrick’s heart slows a bit and his mind stops painting images of his friends laughing at him. “Yeah, alright, here I come.”

Pete steps back so that Patrick can walk all the way out, and his cheeks heat as he takes in both his band and My Chem sitting on folding chairs. 

“I like it,” Ray offers, and Patrick always did like Ray. 

“Yeah, you’ve sorta got the Clark Kent thing going on with your glasses,” Andy muses, and a couple of the others nod. 

“So am I done now?” Patrick asks, inching back towards the dressing room. 

Gerard’s face falls, clearly he had cleared his afternoon to watch a Halloween fashion show or something and Mikey looks up from his phone with a frown.

“No, no,” Pete chimes in, “I don’t think we’ve quite nailed it.”

Patrick sighs and slinks back into the dressing room. 

The problem with having two bands sitting inside a Spirit Halloween store is that they’re easily distracted. Especially the My Chem guys. The next time Patrick comes out in a wizard outfit, Gerard has a shopping bag sitting by his feet and Frank has a pair of fangs in his mouth as he says, “Oooh, we should get cloaks for our next DnD campaign.”

It also means that everyone starts to throw out ideas. Patrick’s put on so many different versions of rash inducing fabric that he’s pretty sure he’s going to have to soak in a bath full of aloe vera gel. And it doesn’t help that Pete’s utterly delighted in the whole experience, meaning that Patrick can’t even let himself throw a tantrum like he would have five costume changes ago. 

So far he’s been various superheroes, a wizard, a knight, the grim reaper, Chucky, a pirate, and even Dorthy from The Wizard of Oz (Frank’s idea even though it was Gerard who said, “You have the perfect legs for white tights). 

And right when Patrick growls, “Alright, I’m  _ done _ ”, Pete hands him another costume. 

“Last one, I promise,” Pete says, batting his eyelashes. 

“Fine,” Patrick mutters, “But I want to pick what toppings we get on the pizza tonight.”

Pete pauses, like that might be a deal breaker, but then nods, “Yeah, fine but I’m drawing the line at olives.”

“I had to put on a dress,” Patrick reminds him. 

“So inflict your weird olive obsession on Frank,” Pete insits, pushing him back into the dressing room with the bundle of green and shutting the door before Patrick can argue. 

Patrick huffs but unfolds the costume and he has to smile a little at it. Of course Pete would come up with this. 

He steps into the jumpsuit--at least there aren’t tights involved this time--and fumbles with the back ties. He finds the purple ribbioned mask and ties it around his head before stepping out.

“I fucking can’t stand you,” Patrick laughs when he sees that Pete is standing there with Joe and Andy in similar attire. 

“You guys are so cute,” Ray says, a little misty eyed. 

Joe snorts and then sneaks behind Andy to pull off his orange eye mask. 

“What the hell man?” Andy asks, whipping around.    


“I told you I wanted to be Michelangelo,” Joe says. 

“No one wants to be Michelangelo,” Andy argues back. 

“No, no one wants to be Leonardo,” Joe says, tossing him the blue mask. 

Patrick’s lip quirks up as he looks back at Pete, who is looking a bit sheepish. “How much did you fight over being Raphael?”

Pete shrugs. “Lead of the band gets first choice.”

It also doesn’t escape Patrick’s notice that he got the purple mask. He knows that he’s had conversations about Donatello with Pete before, but he just thought it was one of those trivia facts about Patrick that no one really paid attention to. But he’s always reminded that Pete isn’t just anyone. 

“Alright, so are we done now?” Patrick says, crossing his arms and putting up that mask of annoyance to hide the fact that his stomach is flipping uncomfortably at the way Pete is looking at him. 

“Sure,” Pete shrugs, like it’s no big deal. Like none of this was a big deal. 

“Thanks,” Patrick says in a small voice, so that the others who are now arguing who the best Ninja Turtle is can’t hear him.

Pete grins and nudges him towards the dressing rooms. “Alright, go on so we can get pizza.”

Patrick has to take a few deep breaths once he gets back inside the dressing room to calm his nerves. Which is sorta annoying because he’s not sure why they’re running rampant today. He’s pretty sure he had a long talk with his stupid heart about the fact that they aren’t supposed to have a crush on Pete anymore. That was all fine and dandy when they were kids barely getting started with the band, but now they have responsibilities. The band is too big to gamble with childish crushes and insecurities. He wouldn’t do that to the guys, wouldn’t do that to Pete. 

Because he  _ knows _ how Pete is. Especially with him. How he’d give Patrick anything he could, and Patrick doesn’t want that from Pete. He doesn’t want Pete to humor him, doesn’t want to drag him into something he doesn’t want. If anyone knows Pete’s dating history, his  _ real _ dating history, it’s Patrick. He knows from watching each relationship go up in flames, that relationships are not Pete’s thing. And it’s not fair to set them up for failure like that.

“You coming, Patrick?” Pete asks, knocking on Patrick’s door. 

Fuck. They’ve all already changed and here he is standing in bright green fabric having some sort of identity crisis. Well, not identity really except now that he’s thinking about it…

“Trick?”

“Yeah,” Patrick calls, reaching behind him to pull at the strings holding his costume up. But his fingers get tangled in the straps of fabric and he knows he just knotted them up more. “Fuck.”

“You ok?”

“Uh…” Patrick starts, wondering if it would be better to just ask for help or to keep them waiting and ultimately have Pete stroll in anyway. He sighs, better just get it over with. “I’m sorta stuck.”

He hears Pete chuckle fondly. “Yeah? Need some help?”

“Yeah,” Patrick says thickly, swallowing and taking a glance in the mirror to see how red his cheeks are. 

Pete opens the door slowly and raises an eyebrow.

“The strings are all tangled,” Patrick explains, turning around so that Pete could see. 

He hears the door shut, but still jumps a bit when he feels Pete’s hand come up on his back where the strings are tangled together. “How’d you manage this?” Pete asks, clearly amused. 

“Well if you weren’t rushing me…”

“Mhmm,” Pete says, not really paying attention to the conversation anymore. Patrick feels him tugging at the strings, trying to loosen the knots enough to pull them apart. Occasionally, he’ll feel Pete’s knuckles brush against his bare back and Patrick curls his toes to keep from shivering. 

“Thanks for doing this by the way,” Patrick says, just to fill the air with more than awkward tension. 

“I’m not going to leave you in the dressing room at Spirit--”

“No,” Patrick cuts him off, “I mean the whole thing. I know I wasn’t very appreciative but...it does mean a lot, Pete.”

Pete’s fingers still and Patrick wonders if he said something wrong. Sometimes, and Patrick hates that it’s this way, but sometimes Pete shuts down when someone is too nice to him. He knows that it’s his fucked up brain chemistry or whatever telling Pete that he doesn’t deserve nice things, isn’t allowed to have someone appreciate him. But Patrick’s sorta in the business of making sure Pete knows he’s wanted, even if it takes him a few tries to get it right. 

“Sure,” Pete finally says, quietly like he didn’t really want Patrick to hear it in the first place. Patrick swallows and exhales as he feels Pete undo the top ties, the cool air hitting his back. But it’s not the cold that makes him shiver, it’s Pete’s lips pressing against the base of his neck. 

They’ve shared kisses before. Well, Pete’s given Patrick kisses before, Patrick isn’t usually the one giving them out. Pete’s kissed his cheek more than once, has kissed his forehead when Patrick gets extra grumpy and that crease forms on his forehead, kissed his hand on the way to stage, even pecked him on the lips whenever Patrick said something that Pete thought was cute. 

But this is different. Pete’s lips are lingering and his knuckle is trailing along Patrick’s exposed spine to rest right where the slit of the costume ends. His other hand comes to rest on Patrick’s hip, grounding but not restraining. It does anything but settle Patrick though, because he knows that this was one of those moments. The kind where they either take a step forward or back, and Patrick’s pretty sure he’s the one who’ll have to do the walking here. 

Patrick hasn’t made up his mind about turning around yet when Joe bangs on the door, causing them both to jump. “Hey, we’re starving out here. Let’s go!”

Patrick turns then, looking at Pete who is staring back with a questioning gaze. He’s waiting, and Patrick’s just not sure yet. Not sure what Pete is really asking him for. What he’s willing to give and Patrick doesn’t want to assume with them. He can’t just take a risk with this, not with Pete. Because Patrick’s always been shit about making choices when they really matter.    


Pete’s jaw sets and Patrick knows that Pete is about to shut down. “Patrick got stuck in his costume. We’re coming now.”

And then he walks out the dressing room without looking back at Patrick.

*

The worst thing about the situation is that Pete is Patrick’s best friend. 

Patrick hasn’t been very good about friends, making them or keeping them. And he thinks that maybe that was a skill he was supposed to have perfected when he was a kid, but he was either too introverted as a child or too pissed off as a teen to really put in the effort. So now in his twenties, he’s a little desperate for the friendships he does have. 

He doesn’t like to go out. He’s really not that big of a fan of getting completely wasted just for the hell of it, and trying to impress people enough that they feel like you’re worth sharing air with is really fucking tiring. He’s content to sit on the bus with his music collection and his laptop. 

But Pete has this way of getting Patrick off the bus. He’ll take him to parties and make him feel included even if he doesn’t really know anyone there. He’ll make sure to scope out whatever town they’re in that day to find some fun “Patrick Friendly” places to take him. 

And it doesn’t really hit Patrick until they’re avoiding each other, that Pete takes care of him a lot. He’s always, selfishly, assumed that he does most of the heavy lifting in their friendship. He’s the one who gets the calls when Pete’s passed out in someone’s grandma’s garden or has to talk Pete out of climbing up the fire escape naked. And he’s the one that Pete crawls in bed with whenever he’s having nightmares or just scary thoughts in general. 

Patrick feels it though, when Pete starts putting distance between them, he can tell that the scales are off balanced and Patrick feels like he’s slipping backwards. 

He’s not really above saying he’s got some internal issues. He doesn’t think that they’re as scary as Pete’s, or maybe they just look different from Pete’s. Either way, he knows he’s got some ugliness inside him. The kind that he puts off to the side and hopes that he can be good enough for people not to notice it. Hopes that if he sings loud enough, if he threads sounds and beats together in a pleasing way, that no one would even care that Patrick truly, absolutely swear-to-God truly, can’t stand himself sometimes. 

It was always something he thought he would just grow out of. He remembers thinking his moodiness was just a product of growing up, something that everyone went through and by the time he got to be a “real” adult, he’d be normal. But here’s the thing, Patrick’s not sure when he starts being an adult. And he thinks that maybe there’s different tiers of adulthood. Like maybe he’s a bit more of an adult than Pete, he doesn’t have that whole Peter Pan outlook on life thing, but he doesn’t really feel like he’s enough of an adult to sort out his feelings either. And really, now that he thinks about it even more, maybe Pete’s more of an adult because he actually did something about whatever the fuck they’ve been dancing around for years. 

“What’s going on with you and Pete?” Joe asks, slouching next to Patrick on the couch of the green room. 

They have soundcheck in twenty minutes and no one has seen Pete since they pulled up to some venue in the middle of Missouri this morning. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Patrick lies, hooking his in-ears in. 

Joe pulls one out. “Yeah, ok, try again.”

It’s sorta annoying since he and Pete have fought plenty of times. The only difference with this time is that no one really did anything wrong. Not really. Well, Patrick maybe since he’s just being a coward, but Pete doesn’t know that. For all Pete knows, Patrick isn’t interested and, wow, ok, maybe he  _ did _ do something wrong then. 

But it’s complicated, he tells himself. It’s complicated and he’s allowed some time to think things through. So maybe he should have said that to Pete instead of freezing up. Because he knows, Patrick of all people fucking  _ knows _ , how Pete must have taken that. Pete would have thought that Patrick didn’t want him. That he wasn’t good enough for Patrick. 

Which is a fucking lie. 

“Jesus,” Joe breathes, shaking his head, “You lost him, so you get to find him.”

“Fine,” Patrick sighs, getting up. 

Finding Pete usually includes searching TMZ for any questionable photographs, but he’s relieved to find that Pete isn’t trending today. Patrick really likes to cherish the small things in life sometimes. 

He doesn’t find Pete on the bus, not that he really thought he would. Pete doesn't usually come back willingly from sulking, he has to be dragged back. Patrick calls a couple people he thinks Pete would rant to, Travie and Gabe first, but they haven’t heard from him. And Mikey said that he texted him, but it wasn’t anything special. So, double fuck. 

He finds him in a bar not too far from the venue, a shot glass and beer in front of him. Patrick comes up and sits next to him at the bar. Pete does a pretty good job at ignoring him before sighing dramatically and saying, “I don’t do rejection.”

Patrick huffs a laugh and steals Pete’s shot, throwing it back and wincing. “You couldn’t have picked better whiskey?”

Pete snorts and shrugs, easily like they haven’t been avoiding each other all week. 

“I’m not rejecting you,” Patrick says, taking Pete’s beer now. 

“You want me to order you something?” Pete asks. 

“No”--but Pete’s already waving down a bartender-- “Look, I just haven’t thought about it.”

Pete waits until a fresh beer has been placed in front of him. “You haven’t?”

“Well…” Patrick backtracks, because he’s trying to be honest here. He takes a couple drinks before sighing, wishing that he smoked or something so he could do something with his hands. “I have.”

Pete turns on his bar stool and grins mischievously at him from around his beer. Patrick already wishes he hadn’t said anything because now he knows Pete won’t let it go. “You have?”

Patrick rolls his eyes, but nods. “But in like...the very hypothetical way and how it’d work with the band.”

Pete’s smile slips. “Or not work.”

“We fight a lot,” Patrick reminds him softly, taking another drink, then, “And you get on my nerves a lot.”

“Well you’re a bitch,” Pete grumbles, then waves at the bartender again “We need something stronger for this conversation.”

*

“This isn’t us thinking about it,” Patrick gasps as Pete’s mouth trails kisses down his neck.

Patrick isn’t a prude or anything, but he doesn’t do this. He doesn’t get shit faced in the middle of the week before soundcheck. And he doesn’t let his best friend leave hickeys on his neck in dirty bar bathrooms. 

“I’m multitasking,” Pete promises, fingers fumbling over Patrick’s buckle. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, his very whiskey drowned mind, Patrick knows this is going to end horribly. Fucking your best friend without talking about feelings is probably a one way ticket to a ruined friendship. Not to mention what this would do to the band once it blew up in all their faces. Because if Patrick’s learned anything about the past week, it’s that he can’t be in this band with Pete ignoring him. He can’t be near Pete and get shut out like he had. 

“Fuck,” Patrick mutters when Pete’s given up on trying to figure out Patrick’s buckle and just grinds up against him. 

“Yeah?” Pete asks, like he’s shy about this or something. Which makes a laugh bubble up to Patrick’s lips. Pete grins, all teeth against his kissed lips, “What are you laughing about?”

“You’re cute,” Patrick murmurs, giggles still hanging onto his voice. 

Pete’s hips still and he brings his hands up to frame Patrick’s face. “Patrick…” he whispers, bringing their foreheads together and backing Patrick up until he’s leaning against the wall. 

It sorta scares him, the heavy sincerity weighing Pete’s voice down. It means this is real, that it has real ammunition that could have serious damage on Patrick. 

And Pete, Patrick thinks, this could really hurt Pete if it doesn’t work out. And it’s that thought that makes Patrick shake his head and pull Pete’s hands away. “Pete, I can’t.”

Pete just crowds Patrick’s space, because he’s Pete fucking Wentz. He nuzzles against Patrick’s neck, presses a soft kiss there. “Because we’re drunk?”

Patrick can’t help himself, and brings his hand up to stroke the back of Pete’s head the way he likes. Pete practically purrs and presses closer. “Among other things.”

“Don’t think too hard about it, ok?” 

It’s awkward stumbling out of the bathroom together, and Patrick apparently isn’t drunk enough to ignore the bartender’s gaze on them. Pete doesn’t seem to mind and throws some bills on the bar before hooking his arm around Patrick’s shoulders and leading him out. 

It’s even worse facing the guys since they’ve essentially missed soundcheck and Andy starts pushing water at them to get them sobered up by the time they go on stage tonight. 

And Pete doesn’t ignore him, but once he drops his arm from Patrick’s shoulders, he doesn’t touch him again. 

*

Patrick hates his life. 

And his friends. Seriously, he hates his friends. Because if he had decent friends, he would not be walking in public wearing green nylon and a scrap of purple around his eyes. 

He should have just left with the rest of the guys when they did, because then he wouldn’t look awkward as fuck walking around as a lone Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle. But he had wanted to stay back in the hotel for a little longer to finish up a song that was  _ finally _ clicking. 

“I don’t want to go to a party,” Patrick had grumbled this afternoon when Pete brought it up. 

“It’s Halloween,” Pete pointed out, “Or, Halloween Eve, the Eve of All Hallows Eve.”

He  _ really _ doesn’t want to go out tonight. Especially since it’s a Saporta party. He doesn’t have anything against Gabe, he honestly likes him and the rest of Cobra Starship. He just knows how his parties tend to go, and he knows how Pete gets when he’s paired up with Gabe for a night. Pete still can’t look at pineapple juice without gagging a little. 

And sure enough, by the time Patrick gets to the house that Gabe’s hosting the party at, Patrick’s already seen three naked people running down the street. He hesitates by the front door, mentally preparing himself and making a deal that he’ll just stay long enough to say hi and have a drink. Easy, Patrick assures himself, and then he can go back to the hotel and finish that documentary on whale songs that he has downloaded on his laptop. 

He’s proud of himself, even if he’s already making plans to dip out early. Because he’s here, which should be celebrated as it is. But he’s also wearing a costume, something he hasn’t done since he was a kid and sitting in the living room instead of being out with the other kids. Maybe Pete was right about part of his childhood missing a bit. He knows that not having gone trick or treating isn’t the reason he is the way he is, but he thinks maybe it’s one of the puzzle pieces. 

But all the pride he has built up in his chest, evaporates once he walks in. 

Because no one is wearing a costume. Everyone is in those hideously tacky bright colored hoodies, but not in green nylon. Patrick is about two seconds from turning around to leave when Andy spots him and throws an arm around him. “Hey you made it,” he says, like he doesn’t even notice what Patrick is wearing. 

Andy is pretty much the best person at these parties. Not only because he doesn’t drink, so he’s always got a sober buddy or someone to take him home in case he does end up drinking, but because he doesn’t let any of the social pressure get to him like it always seems to get to Patrick. And it’s nice to have someone like that hanging on to him when it feels like he’s flailing. 

“Where’s Pete?” Patrick asks. 

Andy grins and nods over to where there’s a group of people by the DJ. Pete’s eyeliner is already running from the sweat, his shirt clinging to him. Patrick’s mind immediately heads back to the dressing room and starts offering scenarios where they hadn’t been interrupted by Joe. But then Gabe is behind Pete and saying something in his ear that has him cackling like a fucking hyenia. 

Patrick knows that they don’t fool around, but he still gets jealous of Gabe. Because he’s effortlessly cool and knows what the fuck he’s doing all the time. He’s older than Patrick and more experienced in all the things that matter. He’s got this brand of humor that sometimes rubs Patrick the wrong way, but seems to always get Pete going. But on top of all that, he’s genuinely a nice guy, so Patrick can’t even bring himself to really be mad about it. Just enough to make himself feel shitty. 

“I’m going to get a drink,” Patrick announces and Andy nods, backing off a bit. 

Patrick heads into the kitchen and feels a few eyes on him, hears a “nice costume”, but ignores it all to fill up a red cup of beer from the keg. It’s pretty shitty beer, but it goes down like water so Patrick’s able to grab another cup before wandering outside. 

He knows he should just go find Andy again, but he also doesn’t want to be that annoying friend who clings all night. Joe is in the backyard smoking with a group of people and Patrick’s never really got into smoking, so he wanders back inside and tries to look like he knows what he’s doing. 

Eventually he finishes his drink, but he doesn’t really feel like another one and he’s starting to wonder if he can leave even though he’s only been here for about forty minutes and still hasn’t said hi to Pete or Gabe. 

Don’t be a dick, he thinks, this is why you never get invited to places. So he squares his shoulders and goes to hunt down Pete. He finds Gabe at some point, but not Pete. 

“Hey, nice costume,” Gabe grins, and Patrick doesn’t know if he’s being sarcastic or genuine.

“Thanks,” Patrick mumbles, then, “You seen Pete?”

“Uh, he wandered off a bit ago,” Gabe shrugs, turning to probably go find more interesting people to talk to. 

Patrick just wants to show Pete that he came to the party so he doesn’t give him shit for it later, and then leave. He’s not drunk enough to handle all the bodys pushing up against him as Patrick makes his way through the crowded house. He finds the stairs and figures even if Pete isn’t upstairs, he can get away from the crowd for a bit. 

It’s quiet upstairs, and Patrick just hovers in the hallway for a minute to let his ears adjust. The music is still leaking it’s way up here, but all the shouting is muffled enough that Patrick can hear himself think. But maybe it’s not the best thing to listen to, so he wanders down the hall.

Most of the doors are shut, and Patrick’s not really keen on going through anyone’s house, but then he hears Pete’s laughter. 

Patrick stands outside the door where he can hear Pete talking, but it’s not clear enough to make out what he’s saying. Patrick’s not stupid, he’s pretty sure he knows what’s going on behind that door. He’s not a stranger to Pete’s conquests, but he sorta thought that Pete was waiting this thing out with Patrick. He thought they were...fuck, Patrick is stupid. What did he think Pete was going to do?  _ Wait _ for him? This is why everyone treats him like a kid, he’s niave and stupid. Especially when it comes to shit like this. 

He’s about to turn and leave when the door opens, revealing some guy in another band that Patrick always forgets the name of. Patrick doesn’t give a shit about his name, but he can’t help but size him up and notice that he’s everything Patrick isn’t. He’s got the same dumb emo hair that half the scene does, he’s thin in all the right places and when he flashes a smile at Patrick, he might feel charmed if he wasn’t so pissed. 

“Hey,” he says, politely but still confused, “nice costume.” 

Patrick just nods to him and then moves past him to hold the door open wider. Pete’s fastening his buckle when he looks up, and his grin slips fast off his face. “Trick?”

Patrick holds his gaze for a moment, not really able to speak but hoping Pete still gets the message. Pete takes a step towards Patrick and it’s like he’s suddenly remembered how to move again. 

Patrick takes off down the stairs, almost tripping on the last few before shoving people out of the way so he can get to the door. He hears Pete calling after him, but it just spurs Patrick more. 

Pete catches him outside on the sidewalk, grabbing his hand and turning him around. Patrick uses the momentum to shove him. “Leave me alone!”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Pete growls. 

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing,” Patrick grumbles, turning back down the street. He’s not even sure where he’s going. He should probably call a cab but he doesn’t want to stop long enough to wait for it to show up. 

“Obviously something--wait, is this about Bill?” 

“Bill?” Patrick laughs bitterly, “That’s his fucking name?”

“Will you please just stop and talk to me? I thought you--”

“--Nothing. It’s  _ nothing _ , Pete,” Patrick insists, nearing hysteria, “We’re nothing,”

Patrick doesn’t let the fact that Pete visibly crumbles at that, doesn’t let himself fall victim to Pete’s sad eyes or his soft, “Patrick?”

“I’m done,” Patrick says, storming off. 

Pete doesn’t follow him. 

*

Patrick tries not to get upset that he’s missing out on another chance to go trick or treating. He hasn’t gone all his life, it’s not that big of a deal. 

Except then Pete made it a big deal and got Patrick’s hopes all up. 

He’s just glad they got another hotel night so he doesn’t have to sit on the bus with Pete tonight. Today had been bad enough, and Patrick could only handle hiding in the lounge for so long. Especially when he could feel the tension leaking from the front of the bus where Pete and the rest of the guys were. He’s not sure if Pete filled them in on what happened or not. Either way, he’s pretty fucking embarassed about the whole situation. 

But it’s fine, Patrick thinks. He’s got his whale song documentary on his laptop and a bag of candy corn to get into the spirit. It’s just another day, he reminds himself, it doesn’t mean anything. 

He manages to only watch ten minutes before he hits pause and curses. Because this is what Pete does. He makes big deals out of nothing. He makes things that Patrick assumed were unimportant take up so much space in his mind. And it’s not even the trick or treat thing, well, sorta since it’s what started this clusterfuck, but it’s not  _ everything _ . 

Everything is what Pete made of their relationship. Something that Patrick had filed away a long time ago and stopped paying attention to. Because his crush on Pete didn’t matter, at least not until Pete made it matter. Until Pete put him in a stupid Ninja Turtle costume, until he kissed him in a bar bathroom, until he fucking ripped out Patrick’s heart at that party. 

Because it wasn’t even that Pete was with someone else. That part hurt, sure. Especially since he thought they were taking a break to think about things. He thought they were on the same page, which is stupid because they’re never on the same page. Sometimes they’re not even in the same fucking book. So it hurts, it kills Patrick because they should work, right? Somehow they click in a way that Patrick never had with anyone else. In a way that he didn’t even realize happened to people in real life. And Patrick knew he wasn’t Pete’s type, but they had this  _ thing _ , magic or whatever, that made them just work. 

So it just sucked to see that guy--Bill, Patrick reminds himself bitterly--look the exact opposite as Patrick. It sucked to see him with all legs and perfect hair next to Patrick’s curves in all the wrong places and thinning hair. It was just a slap in the face that he’s not who Pete wants. 

A knock at the door interrupts Patrick’s pity party and he debates ignoring it, but the knocks are growing more persistent and he thinks it’s probably Joe. They always send Joe to coax Patrick out with them. He gets up and eyes the neon costume laying in his open suitcase, thinking that there’s no way he’ll be talked into going out trick or treating this year. He’s just not in the fucking mood. 

But of course, it’s not Joe at the door, it’s Pete. In his fucking Ninja Turtle costume. 

“What?” Patrick asks, trying to make his voice sound indifferent.  Pete pushes past Patrick and walks into the hotel room. “Ok, look, we obviously need to talk about some shit.”

“I’m pretty sure we said everything that needed to be said last night,” Patrick says, crossing his arms and trying his best to look as uninviting as possible. 

But Pete either ignores it or is oblivious to it and sits back on Patrick’s bed. “I’m going to assume that the excuse of ‘I was so drunk’ won’t work in this case, right?”

No. Not at all. Because Patrick’s seen Pete drunk enough times to know that last night wasn’t just fueled by alcohol. But Patrick stands his ground and says, “You don’t need an excuse.”

Pete frowns at that and starts picking at a loose thread in his costume. “You don’t think very highly of me, do you?”

Patrick’s arms uncross a little and he desperately wants to sit next to Pete, but his pride is still holding him in a standing position. Because, fuck, that’s always the thing with them, isn’t it? And Patrick can’t lie and say that he doesn’t think Pete does stupid shit that Patrick will never understand, that he’s stopped trying to understand and has just accepted that behavior is just Pete. Patrick opens his mouth to tell him how he’s a great musician, but that’s not really true either. He’s not the greatest bass player, and not even a great bandmate. They’re constantly looking out for him like he’s more of a liability than their leader. And then Patrick decides that Pete’s a good friend, but he reconsiders that too since they’re in this position because Pete  _ isn’t _ a good friend. 

But the thing that’s starting to eat away at Patrick in the long silence stretched out between the two of them, is that Patrick still thinks Pete is his favorite person. He’s the one that Patrick always looks for in crowds of strangers. The one who anchors him when he’s on stage and the realization of what he’s doing with his life hits him. The one who defies all his rules about personal space and not getting emotionally attached to people. Pete is, despite all his flaws, Patrick’s best friend. And so he tells him, “You’re my best friend.”

“I don’t make very good decisions sometimes,” Pete says, looking up at Patrick “I fuck up a lot, but you know that. You  _ know _ that, Trick, so I don’t know why this feels so much worse than what I’ve done in the past. Why is this different?”

Because you’re a fucking idiot, Patrick thinks, but knows he can’t say that right now. Pete is not in the mood for tough love right now. “I don’t think it’s fair to ask me that.”

Pete purses his lips. “Yeah, ok. But it’s also not fair for you to put me on hold and then expect me to be the perfect boyfriend too.”

“What?” Patrick asks, crossing his arms again and feeling rage boil in his stomach. 

“You can’t tell me you don’t want--”

“I said I needed to think about it,” Patrick cuts him off. 

“What’s there to think about!” Pete exclaims, throwing his hands up. 

“The band for one,” Patrick says on uncrossing his arms again so he can keep count on his hand, “The fact that our friendship will be completely ruined if it doesn’t work out, the media will be all over us, not to mention we’d be skipping so many steps of a normal relationship and--   


“Would you stop over analyzing everything?” Pete asks, “Just for one goddamn minute, stop thinking and just tell me if you want this.”

“It’s not that easy,” Patrick says, “I don’t just jump into things like you do. I care what fucking happens to you!”

Pete flinches a bit at that and says, “I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah, ok,” Patrick nods, because while Pete is a total fuck up sometimes he’s also his own person, but, “I’ve seen you after bad relationships, and I don’t want to be the cause of that.”

Pete gets up and, if Patrick is being totally honest, it’s a little hard to take Pete seriously when he’s dressed as a turtle, “It’s not going to be bad.”

“How can you be so sure?” Patrick asks, taking a step back as Pete takes one towards him. 

“Because you’re so good, Patrick,” Pete says, like his name is an incantation or something. Like his name is one of Pete’s lyrics that matters. 

“You have to stop treating me like I’m imperfect,” Patrick says softly, and he’s sort of surprised he did. Because they’ve never really talked about that before. How it can be suffocating when Pete rains compliments on Patrick. How he treated Patrick like he was the golden ticket to Pete’s band, like it was because of him that Fall Out Boy even exists. How it keeps Patrick up at night sometimes, thinking about how horrible the fall will be once he finally slips from the pedestal Pete’s put him up on. 

Pete nods and takes a step towards Patrick again, only Patrick doesn’t step back this time. “I can do that,” he says, “What else?”

Patrick can’t believe he’s really entertaining this idea with Pete, but he can’t seem to help but nod along and say, “This can’t get in the way of the band. If we don’t work, we’ve got to just work through it, I don’t--”

“--It’s going to work,” Pete says. 

“You don’t--”

“I do,” Pete says, taking another step, “It’s a gut feeling. And I”m usually right about those.”

“Usually,” Patrick points out. 

Another step.

“I’m always right about gut feelings that involve you,” Pete amends, and then he’s cupping Patrick’s cheek and kissing him. It’s the kind of kiss that should have been their first if they had ever been smart about this to begin with. If they hadn’t been dancing around each other for years and if Pete hadn’t stolen their first kiss with a quick peck on the lips in the haze of excitement of their first show. But maybe, Patrick thinks, that was a pretty perfect kiss too. 

Patrick opens his eyes and pulls away, laughing. “I can’t kiss you in this costume, you look ridiculous.”

Pete grins and nods towards Patrick’s own costume that’s still crumpled in the suitcase. “Better get changed or all the good candy will be gone.”

“Joe and Andy?”

“Waiting in the lobby.”

Patrick shakes his head fondly. “You were so sure about this?”

Pete shrugs. “Told you, I’m right about my gut feelings about you.”

Patrick narrows his eyes, but doesn’t say anything else. He’s got plenty of time to argue with Pete about things that don’t really matter, but he’s only got a few hours left of Halloween. 

*

“I don’t have a joke ready,” Patrick realizes as they’re walking into a neighborhood.

Patrick’s sort of amazed at the Halloween craze. There’s kids all over the sidewalks dressed in various shades and textures of fabrics. Parents are grouped together with cameras in their hands and jackets hung over their arms. There’s light up decorations everywhere, the streets smokey from a few fog machines, and the echoes of doorbells and shouts of “trick or treat!”. 

“I’m pretty sure that’s just a midwest thing,” Joe says, adjusting his mask. 

Pete reaches down to squeeze Patrick’s hand and, after Patrick tells himself  _ don’t think _ , he squeezes his hand back. They’re reaching the first house on the block and Patrick feels a bit silly for feeling like this is such a big deal. For feeling his heart race and a goofy smile stretch his lips. 

“Ready?” Pete asks.

But then Patrick remembers that it’s not just the house that’s doing this to Patrick. Because Pete isn’t just asking if he’s ready to ring the doorbell. Patrick knows the question is heavier than that. That it’s the real reason why his heart is racing and he’s smiling like he’s never been this happy. So he leans forward and brushes his lips against Pete, something soft and sweet that echoes the kinds of kisses they used to share. But it tastes different, sweeter than before. 

“Yeah,” Patrick says, then reaches out and rings the doorbell.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween everyone!!!


End file.
